How To Be Good
by RedDevilGirl
Summary: SPOILERS UP TO 4x07 - Tag to It's the Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester. The morning after. Limp!Sam and brotherly moments... the boys deal with Sam's actions from the night before and what the angels have told them.


This episode broke my writer's block!! I'd taken a couple of months off with weddings to attend, houses to renovate etc, but hopefully it's all calmed down a bit now.

Rated for a bit of language… nothing more scary than that. Spoliers up to 4x07.

It's the morning after Halloween for the boys.

Fuck Castiel. Fuck God's stupid fucking plan… fuck the whole fucking stupid fucking lot of them. Digging deep in his jacket pocket for his hip flask, he cursed his shaking hands. Fucking _angel_. How the fuck… stop fucking swearing, Winchester, Dad woulda torn you a new one for having such a foul mouth… man, that tastes good; needed that. Just to warm me up. It's every time. Every freaking (a bit better…) time the freaky bastard shows up spouting some crap that changes all the freaking goalposts again. Choices. Yeah. Always freaking choices. Fuck. The only choice I actually feel qualified to make at the minute would be strawberry or vanilla…

Glancing briefly upward, he managed to catch the eye of a young mom with a stroller walking past him and gave an unconscious smile, changing to a frown when he realised that she actually looked away and gave him a little wider berth. Huh, he snorted… suppose this looks wonderful. I'm sitting here on a sunny Saturday morning, watching other people's kids playing, not to mention the flask I just stashed in my pocket… I'm quickly becoming less likely to be God's warrior and more the freaky dude in the park. Time to move on.

But where the hell to? He couldn't quite bring himself to go back to the motel, not yet. A shiver went down his spine as Castiel's earlier words ran through his tired mind. He had _questions_. Jeez, if Cas didn't know what the fuck was going on, how was his supposed to make sense of it? His stomach rolled over; he'd missed breakfast. Left before Sammy woke up. Which he shouldn't have done. He patted the breast of his jacket, thinking about calling him. The kid… Sam was crushed last night. Hell, he was wasted. Whatever it was that he did to that Demon really took it out of him.

But this time, somehow it was different. Dean couldn't help but think back only, jeez, was it only three years? To the start of all this freaky shit. To the dreams, the headaches… the visions. To his broken kid brother who would be struck down with an attack at any given moment, who'd be floored, going down gasping for breath and wanting Dean near him; needing him there. He unconsciously grabbed his own lapel in an echo of how he'd frequently felt Sam's big hands there, grasping for a lifeline as the pain and nausea zapped him, needing Dean close and begging him make it stop, make it go away. Back when Dean could do everything. Dean leaned the heels of his hands against his eyes and drew in a shaky breath, remembering the way the visions would leave Sammy tired, sick and scared. He'd turn out the lights, fetch him painkillers and water. It was his job. Watch out for Sammy. Take care of him.

Hell, Dad… I did. _I do._ But the visions… the visions happened _to_ Sam. He didn't… he didn't want them. He hated them. We both did. But this… this is something else. He… he _did_ this. Consciously. Yeah, he panicked. I hope. I really fucking hope he did. Because in the car… Dean shuddered as he thought back to the conversation he and Sam'd had yesterday. Did he panic? Every bone in his body wanted to believe that Sam had no choice, that Samhain was going to make a hat out of Sam's head… and the psychic shit was the only thing that he could do to stop him.

And sweet Jesus, Dean had never seen Sam as _broken_ as the night before. So determined. And hurting so much. He'd stopped and gazed straight at his brother, chin quivering, nose ominously dripping blood over his lip as he panted for breath, for approval, for forgiveness. Dean stared back, sharing all the same emotions. Knowing he was looking scared – knowing full well that Sam could tell he was astounded… disappointed even. But mostly scared of what the fuck Uriel and Castiel were gonna have to do to his baby brother now. Shit.

But he was still his brother. And hell, he'd had to be. Dean's stomach had plummeted about fourteen floors when he saw his brother's knees weaken and slam to the ground, Sam dramatically splattering the mausoleum tiles with an unsightly spraying of vomit. He instinctively hurried to his brother's side, kicking himself for not racing in and stopping the demon, for not picking up the knife, for not starting with the Latin as Sam's dizziness subsided.

But he couldn't help but flinch just a little as Sam had breathlessly held up a hand to tell Dean to back off, to let him get some air… to keep away from him. Because he knew he was dangerous. And Sam's shaky hand raising towards him…

He'd kicked himself for doing it – Sam wouldn't ever hurt _him_. Would he? And still… this wasn't Sam doing whatever the hell demon-powered stuff he'd just been doing. This was Sam who'd come within a hair's breadth of being a demon's entrée, with a headache so bad his brain was leaking out of his nose. He had to help him, had to get him outta there.

Dean lifted himself off the park bench, wanting to shake the memories of the previous evening out of his battered brain. He was breathing heavily and knowing that if he stayed in the park much longer someone was likely to call the cops on the weird dude sitting in the corner with the whiskey. He promised me. He said he'd use the knife. He _promised_ me. Dean headed towards the park gates.

My Sam doesn't break a promise. Hell, it didn't matter what he promised. If he promised to share his ice cream, he made sure Dad got not just two spoons, but three. If he promised he'd be back by ten thirty, he was back by ten twenty five.

And fine. He didn't say it. He didn't actually _say_ he promised. But he – he looked at me. He looked at me like he promised. Fuck. Dean rolled his eyes up to the sky with a horrible realization. His brother hadn't actually promised him anything. Some fucking big brother, Dean, you don't have the first clue what the he's gonna do anymore. You just assume he's gonna sit back and play the good soldier… yeah. Sam hadn't done that since he was about fourteen. Well, that was when he stopped listening to Dad. Dean quickened his step, wondering exactly when it was that he stopped listening to _him._ He always knew what Sam's next move was; knew exactly where he was gonna be. When did Sam ever manage to surprise him? He ran a shaky hand through his short hair, his previous confidence in telling Cas that he'd do exactly the same thing again gone. He _would_ do them same thing again. But maybe… just maybe he'd make sure that he spent a little more time reading his little brother.

He dug his hands deep into his jeans pockets, the slump in his shoulders evident as he trudged through the gates to the park. He had to go back and see Sammy. The only problem was, he didn't quite know what he was going to do when he got there.

****************************************

A huge shiver shook Sam's spine, the threadbare motel curtains still swaying slightly following Uriel's swift departure. His chest heaved upwards, blowing out a long, deep breath and trying to convince himself that the huge physical appearance of the angel hadn't unnerved him at all.

_Turn him to dust._

He sat down on the edge of the bed, one of the springs clunking under his heavy body. What… what exactly did he expect him to do? Samhain would've… he could've… he swallowed deeply, gazing up to the ceiling. He hated being shouted at. He snorted slightly at the stupidity of it all. Shouted at. By an angel.

He'd had more than his fair share of being shouted at over the last few weeks. Part of him was pissed that he was being treated like a naughty kid. The rest of him knew that his big brother was right. He promised him he wouldn't do it again. But… but he had to. Didn't he? The knife, the god damn stupid knife just grazed the bastard. I had to. It's the best way… making the best out of a real bad situation. Understatement. The Demon Blood was turning out to be a bit more than just a minor inconvenience.

He looked somewhat nervously towards the door. He knew Dean left earlier. Before he woke up.

What he didn't know was if he'd come back.

I'm not sure I would, he thought. If I was Dean, if my brother had let me down so badly, I'd be gone. He tried to slow his breathing down, to not think about it, to be confident that Dean would walk back through the door pretty soon. It was an odd kind of fear but somehow familiar and reminiscent of so many nights watching the door, listening for the rumble of the car and trying not to let it upset him. Because that wouldn't do any good. Once the tears started, he couldn't calm himself down. And sometimes it could be days before Dad came back.

He looked towards his mobile phone laying on the nightstand. He wanted to call him. But… but what if he didn't answer? What if – what if he rejected the call? Then he'd know; he'd be sure that his brother didn't want _anything_ to do with him.

And I could still be wrong. He could still be buying coffee. Could walk in any minute. Like nothing ever happened and tell me that it's okay. That he understands what I did. He swiped at his eyes, a tell-tale tear sneaking its way towards his nose and he looked down with a sniff. If you lose it now Sam… he put a hand up towards his head as a pain stabbed through his skull. Shit.

He scrunched up his eyes to block the light; he'd not had a headache like this since… since he started working with Ruby. And man, it hurt. And before that – since the visions. And the night before, he'd known that Dean was watching him. A part of him had wanted Dean to race over, to kill the demon, to stop him. But he didn't. He froze, and Sam wasn't sure whether it was from fear or awe. However, a large part of him felt that he knew what it was. It was a weird mix of disgust and disappointment… and he hated it. When Samhain fell, he'd looked straight towards his brother, into his big deep green eyes… Sam's hazel eyes filled up with tears and a rogue sob escaped his lungs. Staring up at the ceiling with his arms blocking his face, a flash of a memory streaming through his mind. Jessica. How dare that dick of an angel mention her. How…

*******************************************

Dean rolled his eyes up in, weirdly, a silent prayer that this wasn't going to be as awkward as he thought it was going to be. He'd brought donuts to help with that. Just walk in, Dean, and give Sammy his breakfast. Make sure he's doing alright. Then you can… then you can pack up the car and put it all in the rear view mirror.

Until next time.

Here goes nothing. Dean pushed against the motel door as it stuck slightly, drawing in a deep breath, not entirely sure what kind of mood he was going to find his brother in and what kind of fight he might be ready to put up. Not sitting at the table… he cast his eyes to Sam's bed, unable to miss the hulking figure of his formerly little brother lying on his side, back to the door.

"Sam?" He ventured carefully. Maybe he was still asleep… no, he was dressed. Maybe he got up and put his head back down for a bit. Dean closed the door gingerly, not wanting to wake Sam if he had gone back to bed. He focused briefly on the shallow rise and fall of his brother's shoulders, briefly hearing a slight hiccup. Awesome, he thought. He'd seen this so many times; hiding his tears. His first instinct was to sit close behind him, whisper 'hey kiddo, it's not that bad. Come on.'.

But just maybe this time it _was_ that bad. Another secretive sob rocked Sam's shoulders and Dean noticed him swipe at his eyes. And he couldn't go to him like he wanted to… "Sam?" His voice was authoritative, gruff. "What's going on?"

Shit, Sam, get it together, come on, come on… he sobbed again, a part of him wanting to feel Dean sit down behind him, to ruffle his hair and call him Samantha because something stupid had got on top of him. But he knew he wasn't going to do it and he felt his chin crumple once again.

"Come on, little brother, sit up, suck it up." His brother's voice echoed around the otherwise silent motel room, warning him in no uncertain terms that he wasn't going to baby him on this one. Sam took his brother's literal advice and took a deep breath in, hoping the fresh air would stop the meltdown he was feeling. He drew his legs up to his chest and rolled around shakily, sheepishly looking up at his brother, who was holding out a Kleenex to him.

"Wh… why are y…you looking after me, Dean?" His dejected voice choked through the silence. His brother was gazing down at him.

"Enough, Sam."

"Huh?" He squeezed his eyes shut again. Please don't yell at me, Dean… I don't think I could handle it. He heard the bed opposite creak as Dean sat down to face him.

"I said enough". He sighed, not wanting to be too stern. But he _had_ had enough. No sugar coating this one.

"I know what's going on with you. I know you had seven shades kicked outta you last night. And I know there's no way you're even half over whatever the hell it was you did to Samhain last night."

"I'm okay". Sam sniffed, using the Kleenex to loudly blow his nose. Dean blanched slightly.

"Yeah. Sure. Let's not pretend anymore, okay? You were a mess last night. Scarily so. Shit, I've not seen you hurl like that since you got sick at the fair when you were like, twelve." Dean shot Sam a sneaky grin, accompanied with the memory of him spattering sixteen year old Dean's favourite shirt with Cotton Candy-pink colored puke. Sam offered a small smirk back.

"Dad told you I wasn't allowed on the twister ride…"

"Yeah. And turns out Dad always knew best." Dean raised his eyebrows to his brother in a silent I-told-you-so. "So how are you really feeling, Sammy?" He finally allowed his voice a little big-brother softness.

Sam sniffed. "M'sorry Dean." He grabbed his forehead. "I feel like crap on toast. With a side order of crap." He paused a second and then squinted up at his brother, the sobbing having subsided. "You know why I had to do it, don't you?" He dropped his voice to a guilty sounding whisper.

Dean shifted onto the bed next to his brother. Not that he was going to hug him or anything, but just to… just because.

"I…" His voice trailed off. He wasn't sure how to answer this one. He didn't think that Sam made the best decision. But maybe he made the only decision. He turned his face away from his brother, not able to meet his gaze at the moment.

"I know if you hadn't have done it then we might not be having this conversation right now. Or any conversation for that matter." He looked into the distance, focussing his attention on a bobbing tree bough outside. He couldn't look at Sam when he asked this. "Did you… so, d'you just panic, or what?"

Sam looked down at his feet. Did he panic? He pulled his gaze back to meet his brother's. "I'm not sure, Dean." His voice was quiet, cracked.

"Whaddya mean, you're not sure?" Dean's guard was back up. Don't tell me this, Sammy… don't tell me you planned it. Please.

"Exactly that. I think… I think I thought that if it was clearly for the good of the whole town, then it'd be okay. Then it'd be the reason that I was kinda supposed to be able to do this crap."

"And it wasn't?"

"No. It wasn't. It's not." Sam fell silent, expecting Dean to come back with a comment. He didn't. "That dick Uriel was here."

"Uriel?" Shit. Double shit with cherries on. "For real?"

"I hate him." There was something about Sam that made him sound about five years old.

"Well yeah." Dean's voice was flat. He hated him too. But you couldn't always get on with _all_ your colleagues. "But… they don't want you to do it, Sam. Forget the fact that I don't. Hell, you can ignore me all you want, it's not like you've never ignored me before –"

Sam sniffed loudly. Low blow, Dean.

"But surely – these guys are…". He paused, looking for the words. How can I say this any differently?

"I know, Dean. I know." He wrung his hands together and started to pick at the hem of his shirt. "He mentioned Jessica."

Ouch. Dean stood up and ran his hands through his short hair. Of course. 2nd November 2005. Three years ago tomorrow. Halloween weekend. "Betcha still miss her." Stupid, stupid, Dean. Of course he still misses her. He cursed his big feet.

"Not really."

"Huh?"

"I loved her so much Dean. So much it still hurts, y'know?"

He didn't. But he nodded anyway.

"But…" Sam put his still aching head into his hands. "Now, I wish she'd never met me."

"Sam…" Here we go. Drama queen. Dean rolled his eyes slightly.

"No, Dean… I'm not just being over the top here. If she hadn't met me, she wouldn't be dead. Yellow eyes said as much. But… even if that hadn't have happened, there's no way I'd, no way I'd've been able to stay with her."

"The demon blood huh?" Dean started stuffing his gear into his duffle bag. Sam had long since packed up his bag.

"I'm tainted, Dean. Normal was never gonna work." He swallowed deeply. "D'you think Dad knew that?"

Dean's back was to his brother. Did he think Dad knew. He started to treat a dirty shirt to little more attentive folding than he would usually. Dad knew… something. He hoped he hadn't known everything. But… he'd known who to summon. He'd known who to 'deal' with after the car wreck. How many details had he not written in the journal? Was even that full of lies by omission?

"I think, Sammy." He drew in a deep breath. "I think that Dad was scared when you went to school. But just maybe he thought that getting outta it all would keep you safe. He didn't want you to have half and half – couldn't have the hunter lifestyle at school. All or nothing, Sam."

"But it always finds you."

"Not necessarily."

"Found Mom. It found us."

"Yeah. Yeah it did. But… Mom made a deal. And that never ends well. We know that. And Cas says that's all the deals. The first deal. Before mine, Dad's… before any of it."

"D'you think there's a way outta _this_ deal, Dean? The one that left me like… like this?"

Okay, he's got me. Dean felt his breath hitch as he turned to his brother. "Your choice, Sammy. It really is. And what happened last night, you chose to do it. We're back to the same place as we were last year – only this time, it's _you_ who needs to want to get out of the deal. I know you didn't make the frigging deal, and I know you can't get your head around how it makes you feel. But Sam." He sat back down next to him. "We're at war here. And you need to make sure that you're on the right side."

"I'm… of course I'm on the right side, Dean!"

"Yeah… and I'm sure the Klingons thought that too. Look Sam, just… don't be swayed by Ruby. I don't know what you two were up to whilst I was downstairs. I'm not doubting that what you're doing feels right. But Sam… you're such… such a nice guy. And you're so…" He swallowed. This wasn't a criticism of his brother, really it wasn't. But how to say he was a soft touch without sounding all 'Dad'… he changed tack. "And I know that you're not over-awed by the angels. Shoot, neither am I."

"You can say that again."

"We just need to work out what the end game is. Whatever the fuck Yellow Eyes was planning, it's big. And Castiel doesn't know what the hell he was after. But until…" Dean's mouth was running dry; he wasn't used to the pep talks anymore. "Until that time, Sammy, you need to keep your head down and be good."

"Be _good_?" Sam exclaimed. "Dean, I'm not five anymore!"

Dean rolled his eyes and fastened his bag. "I know. Cos if you were you'da been sent to bed with no supper for exorcising demons with your mind when you've been told that it's not allowed!"

Sam almost wanted to smile, but Dean was serious. He was right. He had to keep low key. He didn't fancy challenging Uriel on the dust thing.

"You ready to get outta here? I got donuts for the road."

Sam smiled up at Dean's peace offering. "Are we okay, dude?"

"Sam." Dean frowned. "We have to be." He slung his duffle over his shoulder. "I'm not singing your demon powers from the rooftops. But…" He bit on his lip slightly. "But if you'd not done the exorcism trick last night, we wouldn't be here now. The town wouldn't be here. And that's gotta count for something, right?"

Sam echoed Dean's movement with his bag and picked up his sneakers from the floor next to the bed. He didn't have to answer his brother as he followed him out to the car. He slid himself into the passenger seat as Dean went to check out, seeing the back of yet another motel room. Waiting for his brother to return, he glanced around the car, unable to believe that only an hour and a half earlier he was seriously terrified that Dean was going to leave him and that he'd be on his own again. As he noticed his brother walking back over the parking lot absently stuffing the motel bill into his leather jacket pocket, he settled his still splitting head against the cool glass of the passenger side window. Somehow he knew that just what he needed to make him feel better was some 1980's metal, Dean's sugary breakfast donuts and catching a nap as his brother gunned the Impala down the back roads of the mid west.

Another day-long road trip to God knows where.

Maybe God does…


End file.
